If You Have to Ask, You'll Never Know
by Goddess-of-the-Night04
Summary: A dialogue-free look in to Sherlock's inner thoughts leading up to - and through - John's wedding in The Sign of Three. Rating is for: Mild language.


**Disclaimer:** I own no part of the BBC Sherlock world, or the glory that is The Sign of Three. I make no profit from this.

 **A/N:** I really am truly sorry for this story. It was one of those that got in to my head and just had to be written. I've always had an affinity for song-fics (which are not even something I enjoy reading all that much, to be honest), but I've really been trying to steer clear of them as I age.

"No one wants to read this depressing shite, Goddess!" I told myself as I took a bathroom break while writing this...then promptly came back to finish it.

I know no one really WANTS to read the sad fic with no happy ending but...if you could give this one a try nonetheless, I would be truly grateful.

Lyrics are in _italics_. Song details are located at the end in case you'd like to look it up yourself.

* * *

The day you got engaged was the day I died all over again, but this time for myself. You didn't notice the difference because I was determined you wouldn't see it; wouldn't see the excruciating pain I felt in my very core to lose you after I was finally able to return home.

Or, at least, what _used_ to be home.

I can understand – I truly can – why you couldn't bring yourself to forgive my lengthy absence to the full degree that I had hoped you would. I spent so many nights imagining returning home to you, to find you reading in your chair in 221B. You'd get up and punch me in the face, yell about what a selfish arse I had been, and then, just as you tired yourself out, you'd grab my face and kiss me hard.

Well, two out of three isn't bad, statistically speaking.

You didn't care to hear that I had pretended to die to save you; that I had endured countless inconceivable terrors to keep you safe. So when I returned just in time to witness you become engaged to some…some _woman_ , I hid the pain behind humor, callousness, and drugs.

I can honestly understand why you moved on – why you _had_ to – and I'm glad you found happiness again. But it doesn't make the lump in my throat any less bitter: the lump that has longed to finally confess that I love you, now that it's too late for you to possibly consider returning the sentiment.

So when you asked me to be your best man, I had difficulty processing it. Had I done such a remarkable job of hiding my pain at losing you that you thought I'd be fine taking part in giving you away? But I must have. Instead of dwelling on that, my mind latched on to one smaller, more significant fact: you considered me to be your best friend and that? That would have to be enough. I have almost convinced myself that it is.

When you asked me to write your wedding dance, my heart broke a little more. I have written you many a piece throughout the years of our acquaintance (whether you realize it or not), but to write a piece for you to dance with the woman you have chosen over me? Is it not enough to stand next to you as you proclaim to love her always? Is it not enough to stand next to you and give a speech in front of a crowd that endorses this mistake my heart is screaming that you're making? Now I have to write a fucking piece of music to bestow my blessing as she sweeps you away from me?

And now, not only have I laid my soul to paper for you – the only person I have ever dreamed to love – and the woman who took advantage of my absence, you're asking me to teach you to _dance to it._ To hold you in my arms like you'll hold her, except that she gets to keep you.

I don't know what kind of man you think I am, John, but even a Saint would place a curse upon you and yours.

But how am I supposed to say no to you? I never actually have before, and as selfish as I know it is, I can't say no to my only opportunity to hold you close and pretend that you might love me, too.

So we meet in secret and I act as though I don't hate the fact that she makes you sneak around with me. You keep promising that things won't be different when you're married, but don't you see? They already _are_.

The first couple of lessons, I lead so that you can learn the pattern, and I relish in being able to pull you close to my body with my arm wrapped around your waist, your hand clasped in mine. But I almost prefer when you lead, because you pull me close like you desire me and lead with such a commanding presence that shouldn't really surprise me as I allow myself to exist only now, within these moments that feel so right.

These nights, with you in my arms, I can almost remember what I fought to return to; can almost pretend that I don't feel dead inside, aching with my despair over having lost you anyway, in the end.

 _You're in my arms_  
 _And all the world is calm_  
 _The music playing on for only two_  
 _So close together_  
 _And when I'm with you_  
 _So close to feeling alive_

I know you think I don't understand what you went through while I was gone - how I hurt you so deeply over the span of those two years – but I assure you that we suffered the same. Knowing you were alive didn't actually help me reconcile being away from you for so long, so I couldn't comprehend how it would have helped you. For that I am sorry to you. For you having moved on, unable to continue grieving over me, I am sorry to myself.

We both spent the years yearning for the other – you for me not to be dead, me for you not to be ignorant of my living – but with one significant, _glaring_ difference: you spent the time closing yourself off, and I spent the time opening myself up.

I imagined that I could love you; the way my heart ached for you could leave no room for doubt any longer. I imagined that I could open my heart to you, because you already accepted it for all its coldness and locks. I imagined that I could open my body to you in a way I have never wanted to even attempt with anyone else, because you were the first person to care enough to make sure I actually took care of my transport. I imagined that I could be happy with you, if only I could convince you to stay by my side.

So you have to understand that when I came back and realized how stupidly optimistic I had been in all of that – to have found you engaged to some fucking _stranger_ – that I found it difficult to cope without my cold mask of deduction and indifference that I have spent so many years perfecting.

In that one moment, my dreams that never even had the chance to become reality were crushed, never to be realized. The dream, above all, that I could hold you and call you mine.

 _A life goes by_  
 _Romantic dreams must die_  
 _So I bid mine goodbye and never knew_  
 _So close was waiting, waiting here with you_  
 _And now forever I know_  
 _All that I wanted to hold you_  
 _So close_

After one of our last dance lessons, you goaded me in to admitting that I love you as you were stalling to leave. You played it off as a light hearted joke ( _"Come on, just admit it: you love me."_ ) but I could see in your eyes that you were almost pleading for the assurance. Did you want me to fight for you? Tell you that you shouldn't marry her but stay with me?

Well, you _shouldn't_ marry her and you _should_ stay with me, always, but I'm not the one to tell you that if you don't already know it. If you have to ask, you'll never know.

So as I stand to deliver my best man speech in front of a crowd of people which contains only a handful of individuals that I know well, you seated to my right, it hits me hard in the gut that you're married now and it's not to me. I fumble over my words at the start because of this radiating pain, but push on and within short order am announcing to the room that I do, in fact, love you.

Sure, it wasn't a flat-out declaration, but a declaration all the same. Personally I'm just proud of myself for not waxing poetic about how you were…are…forever will be…that famous happy ending for me that they talk about in those stupid romantic movies.

You are right beside me at your wedding, and if I close my eyes I can imagine that this is ours and is real, but as I glance down at you I can't help but see that woman in the white dress, breaking the illusion.

 _So close to reaching that famous happy ending_  
 _Almost believing this one's not pretend_  
 _And now you're beside me and look how far we've come_  
 _So far, we are, so close_

We solve a murder, save a life, and I can almost believe things are normal again before I have to perform that fucking piece you made me write for you. I watch as you dance with her and imagine that we looked a hell of a lot more natural at it than that.

The piece ends and I give another, impromptu, speech. Whatever compelled me to do it, I'm not certain; maybe I simply wanted to have your eyes on me again. Who knows? But then I experience one more deduction than I had been anticipating.

You're expecting a baby. Something I could never give you.

As we discuss it, I can already feel the itch in my veins that can only be satisfied by drugs. This changes everything; you're too honorable a man to walk away from a child.

I have well and truly lost you now, and I have no earthly idea how the hell I'm supposed to cope with that.

 _Oh, how could I face the faceless days  
If I should lose you now?_

You move to hug me, but I can practically smell the panic and regret rolling off of you in waves. You wanted to hug me, yes, but you also needed to hide your face from her as you gathered yourself. I am safe and would never judge you for that. I'm not certain the same could be said for your wife.

Regardless, I relish in your body pressing closely to mine in what very well may be – surely _will_ be – the last time.

 _We're so close_  
 _To reaching that famous happy ending_  
 _Almost believing this one's not pretend_  
 _Let's go on dreaming for we know we are_  
 _So close_

You let go, your hand dragging down my neck as you step back reluctantly. Your eyes hold a million thoughts and emotions, and it's impossible for me to register all of them before they're gone. Finally, unable to hold my gaze, you look down awkwardly.

My face and stomach fall as I tell you to go dance so people don't start to talk. I know how much you hate it when people talk.

You give me one last look before allowing her to lead you away.

 _So close_

My eyes cast around the room for anywhere for my feet to lead me. My hopes rise when I see Janine wave to me, but my face falls again when I notice that she's dancing with someone. My colleagues and Mrs. Hudson are dancing but…the old bat and Molly have always been too observant about my feelings for you and I can't bring myself to face them at this moment.

So with a deep breath I move back to the stage and place the sheet music in its envelope, my violin in its case.

I grab my coat and scarf, not even pausing in my strides towards the door to complete putting them on before exiting the suffocating building.

No goodbyes. I doubt anyone will even notice for a while, seeing as I have no place amongst anyone anymore.

The brisk night air against my face is a welcome distraction from the aching in my heart and the despair in my stomach.

With you I could have had a future I never dared to consider before...never wanted before you. Instead I head out in to the endless dark night and begin merely existing without you.

 _And still so far_

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 **A/N:** If you made it through, THANK YOU! I'm sorry for all of the feels.

I would love to hear your thoughts via comment, kudos, or constructive criticism!

The song is So Close by Jon McLaughlin (yes, from the movie Enchanted). If you haven't ever heard it, that's all the information you need to search it on youtube or wherever.

Also of note, there are some discrepancies between what they say the words are and what my ears hear so...I went with my ears those couple of times.

Follow me on Tumblr at goddess-of-the-night04 for an easy way to keep up with any new stories from me or just to chat; I'd love hear from you :)


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